


Beached

by one_red_sock



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Beach Sex, Belly Kink, F/M, Hand Jobs, Weight Gain, chubby!Dean, feederism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-06
Updated: 2015-06-06
Packaged: 2018-04-03 04:25:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4086727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/one_red_sock/pseuds/one_red_sock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vacation. A buffet. The surf. And happy fun times! (In which Lisa is a feeder and Dean couldn't be more on-board with this.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beached

**Author's Note:**

> I've been sitting on this one for a while... not sure why. But since summer is on the horizon, I figured now was as good a time as any. Just a little holiday adventure!

Lisa was looking forward to this more than she was willing to admit.

It was simply the perfect set-up. Date night, at the beach. Ben was old enough to stay by himself at the beach house, and would probably stay plugged into Gears of War for the foreseeable future. Besides, he had their cell phone number if anything odd came up. Fact was, Ben was far more prepared for ‘odd’ than your average thirteen-year-old, thanks to Dean.

The sun was setting inland, casting the clouds over the Atlantic in shades of salmon and indigo. Dean was lounging against the restaurant’s outdoor bar, working on his second beer, not-so-patiently waiting for their pager to buzz. Probably wouldn’t be much longer, but Lisa took the short opportunity to admire her man. Her big, adorable, devastatingly handsome man. The summer had touched his hair with blonde, freckles popping out with wild abandon atop a reluctant tan. He wasn’t shaving, and his plump cheeks were delicious with scruff.

Plump. What a nice word that was, Lisa decided, with no small bit of awe. She never in a billion years would’ve pictured herself with a guy who crested 300 pounds...whom she _helped_ gain his way to 300. Lisa Braeden, chubby chaser? Really?

Yes, really. The bigger Dean got, the better she liked it. It was as simple as that.

Dean had his elbows behind him on the bar and his mountain of a belly was straining at the buttons of his shirt already. And they hadn’t even hit the seafood buffet yet. She just wanted to pluck off every last button with her teeth and watch all that supple flesh shiver under her lips. He was so ticklish on his middle, and that made him bounce even more. He’d laugh, and his middle would roll in succulent waves...

Lisa swallowed and tore her eyes away before she embarrassed herself. She was already feeling it between her legs, all warm and tingly. As if on cue, the pager buzzed. Lisa startled and blinked to clear away untoward thoughts, and waved the pager at Dean. He nodded, threw a bill at the bartender with a smile, and pushed off the bar.

They managed to cop a window seat with a perfect view of high tide, and Lisa ordered them a nice bottle of white. She had ulterior motives; Dean ate more when he drank and he already had a pair of beers in him. Good sense and inhibitions would fly right out the window after the wine. She almost felt guilty. _Almost._

“You go first, Lis. I’ll watch your purse.” Dean took a swallow of wine and hoisted brows. “Hey, this is some good shit right here.”

She couldn’t help but grin at the fool. As much as she wanted him to get started, she appreciated the gesture and got herself a salad and some crab legs. Should keep her busy for a while and allow her lots of fiddling time to watch Dean eat.

Okay, there was the eating thing, too. She adored watching him eat. He truly appreciated food. Maybe it was because he’d had so little of the good stuff before she met him, and now, he could relax and actually take the time to taste what he was chewing. He still favored bacon cheeseburgers and pie, of course, but he could make a mean pasta carbonara when the mood hit him.

Dean returned with his first plate, and clearly, he’d put a dent in the fried section of the buffet. He’d procured a small planet of shrimp, clams, scallops and hushpuppies. No oysters, not that she much blamed him. Slimy, gritty suckers.

And so it began.

They talked about Ben, and laughed at how he was getting just the tiniest bit of a mustache already. They dissected her cousin’s failing marriage. Dean guardedly recounted a sea monster case he and Sam had chased, only to find out it was a frickin’ giant otter.

Dean barely ever talked about Sam, even tangentially. It simply hurt too much. He got a little down in the mouth after the story, so Lisa held his hand for a few moments. It helped. After another glass of wine and a kiss across the table, he was digging into his second full plate with zeal.

And then a third. By the fourth trip to the buffet, he was unconsciously palming his belly, probably because it was making itself known, starting to feel sated and seriously straining at his shirt. Didn’t stop him, though, just slowed him down a hair. Lisa ordered them a second bottle of wine and rambled on about what tomorrow’s plan might hold...lazing in the sun or maybe fishing off the pier. But really, her mind was elsewhere. She was feeling the wine, too. And it was nice. Real nice.

Dean pushed away his plate and stifled a groan. His shirt puckered where the buttons tugged, and he brushed crumbs from the mound of his middle. His belly pushed into the edge of the table with a cute little puff. “You’ll have to roll me to the beach,” he said on a chuckle.

“Promise?” Lisa said, before she could stop herself. Dean’s cheeks might’ve pinkened up, but he grinned. Made her smile, too. “Be right back.” This deserved icing on the cake, literally.

The buffet had an expansive dessert bar, naturally, just like every other course. She loaded up two plates, one for herself with a delicate slice of strawberry cheesecake, and one for Dean. Not so delicate.

He was massaging his stomach when she returned, and god, it turned her right the fuck on. She set the plate down beside him, and he eyed it with no small amount of trepidation. “I dunno, Lis...”

Lisa sat across the table, eyes leveled at him, and ran her tongue over her lip. That’s all she had to do. Dean picked up a fork and dug in. Chocolate mousse cake and carrot cake and petite fours, bread pudding and sugar cookies. She slid her foot out of her pump and when he slowed down, pressing his chunky fingers into his bloated belly, she wiggled her toes up under the fat and pressed at his cock. Gently, granted, but it did the trick. His dick twitched.

“Keep. Eating.” She barely needed to whisper. He obeyed, even finishing off her cheesecake and the bottle of wine. His shirt had grown so tight, skin peeked through the gaps between the buttons. He looked loopy and heavy-lidded, his arms now flopped down by his bulging sides, but one part of Dean was still happy to stay interested.

Lisa slipped her shoe back on and signaled for the check.

They barely made it to the parking lot before she was sliding her hands all over his body, shoving at the weight of his enormous gut and clutching handfuls of delectably meaty love-handles. He listed back when he walked, _waddled_ , because he knew she was watching.

“I don’t want to go home.” Lisa tugged at Dean’s hand, toward the beach, just across a quiet access road.

_Seriously?_ , his expression read, but ever game, he shrugged and let her lead him, hand in hand, to the twilit surf.

There were a few folks still meandering down the sands and the wind was brisk. Lisa cuddled up against Dean, her hands under his shirt and surreptitiously—or not so much—tickling at his nipples. He lumbered when they walked, a dome of paunch visible beneath the bottom of his shirt because there was no way there was enough material to do the job anymore.

“This is so unfair,” he said, his lips pressed into her hair. His every step bounced his belly, left deep divots in the sand.

“I know. Let me make it up to you.”

They strolled another few yards, to a soft, lonely dune, and Lisa peeled away from him. She walked backwards in the fading light, and grabbed handfuls of her skirt, lifting it slowly until she was flashing panty. The pink lacy ones Dean so favored. Then she sat down on the dune, reclining, slowly spreading her knees. Sand and grit be damned.

Dean grinned and grunted, fell ponderously down on one knee. There was a sudden tearing sound, and a button plinged into Lisa’s lap. She giggled and since it was a lost cause now, got her fingers into the new gap and pulled the shirt open, losing a few more buttons in the process. Dean’s wonderful body plopped free of the fabric and bulged over his belt like the moon itself. Lisa got her hands on either side of it and pulled him towards her. He was huge and handsome and warm, plushy rolls of flesh over a taut stomach and solid muscle. He was fucking perfect. He slid her dress off one shoulder, straining to lean forward and kiss the skin. It was almost impossible; he was stuffed silly and clearly afraid of smashing her, but Lisa got her legs around his hips—flexible as always—and pulled his girth against her, sinking them both into the dune.

With some finagling, she got her hands under his middle and found his belt. He sucked bruises onto her neck as she unbuckled and unzipped him, slipped fingers around his prick and tugged, fattening it up nicely. She was already wet, and she rubbed herself against him, the pressure of his considerable weight nothing but a pleasure.

She jacked him off briskly, bouncing her hand off a cushion of fat, loving the way he squeezed his eyes shut, bit his lip. He grunted and rutted, and his stubble-grazed cheeks shuddered as he came, sudden heat spilling over Lisa’s hand and likely ruining his pants, but oh well. It was so worth the sacrifice. She held onto his cock as she ground herself into him, managed to get her other hand onto her clit as he hoisted up just enough to give her room to work. It was like maneuvering under an enormous feather pillow, but her practiced fingers brought on waves of tension and release, sweet little pulses, as she pressed her head back into the sand and sighed out her orgasm.

Then someone cleared their throat behind them, and a dog yipped.

“Oh, shit!” Lisa whispered into the softness of Dean’s neck. He was biting back laughter, she could tell. In a bit of a scramble, they put themselves back together. Lisa had lost an earring somewhere, and Dean winced when he had to zip up, sticky, but now they had to face the music.

Or an old guy with a Jimmy Buffet t-shirt and a three-legged dog, as it were.

Dean stood up first and faced Lisa with hands spread in a gesture of “Am I good?” She nodded curtly and took his arm, hauling herself to her feet.

They turned around, both of them grinning and pink-cheeked. Dean’s huge belly was on full display, his shirt flapping open in the breeze.

The old man grunted, gave a single nod. “Way to go, big guy.” The dog yipped in agreement, and then they went on their merry way down the beach.

Stunned silent, they watched him leave. Venus glittered on the horizon, and the damp evening breeze flicked at her skirt.

Dean dropped his arm across her shoulders, a smile still ghosting his lips. “The old fart is right. I scored. I lucked out.”

Lisa sighed, patted his sizable ass, and hooked a finger through a beltloop behind his back. “Nah, not luck. You earned me. Big guy.”

 

 

 


End file.
